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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26989984">Ballet dad</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sani86/pseuds/Sani86'>Sani86</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi'>UlsPi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctor Geralt, Good Dad Geralt, M/M, Music student Jaskier, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Young Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:21:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,015</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26989984</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sani86/pseuds/Sani86, https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A little kids' ballet recital isn't exactly the most exciting gig Jaskier has played all year, but it's a favour for a friend.<br/>At least, it isn't exciting until one of the fathers catches his eye...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>257</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Ballet recital</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This whole story started when we saw <a href="https://www.facebook.com/199098633470668/posts/7994127473967706/?sfnsn=scwshwa&amp;extid=yB8wUoRMTRMfVMD2">this video</a> on facebook, and decided it was a very Good Dad Geralt (TM) thing to do. The rest just sort of... happened.</p>
<p>This is also our first *official* collab, woot!! Hope you all enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier wound his way through the backstage area, enjoying the distinct lack of his usual pre-performance nerves. A little kids’ ballet recital was hardly the most challenging gig. At least there wouldn’t be any drunks in the audience swearing at him, or snobbish types picking his music apart just to make themselves look clever. No, all he had to do here was play a simplified version of Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy on the piano without losing his beat. Child’s play. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jaskier!” Triss, the ballet teacher, waved at him. “Thanks again for stepping in at such short notice.“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No problem,” he said, and meant it. When Priscilla had called him up, explaining that she’d sprained her wrist and couldn’t play at the ballet recital, he hadn’t hesitated for a moment; she was his best friend and he owed her more favors than he could count. Besides, he rather liked kids.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You really went all out, huh?” Triss said, looking him up and down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier grinned and gave a dramatic bow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Julian Alfred Pankratz, at your service m’lady.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d always had a flair for the dramatic, and for this performance he’d borrowed a doublet and hose from the drama department’s garderobe - perks of being a postgrad student and semi-permanent fixture in the university’s arts department. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would fervently deny that he’d gotten dressed several hours early just so that he could play around on his lute pretending to be a medieval bard. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Curtain up in ten minutes!” yelled a voice from the stage. Jaskier took his place at the piano, idly scanning the audience as he half-listened to the opening speeches. Seemed a pretty usual crowd for this sort of affair: parents, grandparents, some siblings squirming in their seats.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One guy in particular caught his eye, lurking in the back corner. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, and the most striking silver-grey hair half-tied back in a little ponytail. Oh, and a face like a thunderstorm. Jaskier wondered if he was a parent, or if he’d been dragged along by some other sort of obligation. He didn’t look particularly happy to be there. No woman (or man) with him, his lizard brain noted. He hissed at it to shut up. He was here in a professional capacity, for fuck’s sake.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And now, to open the programme, miss Merigold’s group will perform the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy,” the speaker announced. That was his cue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He caught Triss’s eye, and when she gave him a nod, he tapped out four beats on the body of the piano before starting to play.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first thirty seconds or so went okay, as Triss sashayed out followed by about a dozen girls ranging in age from three to five. But as they took up their positions and caught sight of the audience, things went sideways. The smallest girl of them all, a pretty little blond girl, suddenly started crying, trying to hang onto Triss’s leg as she danced. A stage hand appeared and tried to take the little girl’s hand, but this just caused her to wail even louder. Jaskier shot Triss a questioning look, but she just made a </span>
  <em>
    <span>keep playing</span>
  </em>
  <span> sort of gesture, trying to keep dancing and console her charge at the same time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her sudden salvation came from an unexpected quarter: Mr. Thunderface was climbing onto the stage, saying something that Jaskier couldn’t hear. He took the little girl’s hand, and spoke to her, which stopped the wailing, at least. Must be her dad, Jaskier guessed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then the unthinkable happened: that burly mountain of a man started performing the ballet steps in perfect sync with Triss, which had Jaskier wondering how many times he’d practiced the dance before. He pointé-ed and plié-ed and passé-ed, somehow managing to not look ridiculous doing a fairy dance in his tight black jeans and combat boots. It worked, too: the little girl soon started dancing along with him, looking at her dad as if he’d hung the sun in the sky, and he smiled back down at her with a look of absolute adoration.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier was absolutely enchanted, and from the sound of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>ooh</span>
  </em>
  <span>s and </span>
  <em>
    <span>aw</span>
  </em>
  <span>s coming from the audience, he wasn’t the only one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, gods,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaskier thought to himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have to meet this guy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A man who’s that hot, and that much of a softie in the hands of his little girl? It seemed like the stuff of dreams. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/187976701@N07/50470945752/in/dateposted-public/">
    
  </a>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The recital was over all too soon, in Jaskier's opinion. Mr. Thunderface (now more of a fluffy midsummer cumulus) held his daughter up and smiled at her, no, beamed at her, and for all that he seemed to care the rest of the world could go fuck itself. The girl seemed to agree. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man carried her down, cooing all the way and being absolutely obnoxiously adorable. Seriously, no person on earth could be so cute; Jaskier knew this because he had been told many times that he was the cutest of the cutest…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He followed the affectionate man-mountain and coughed politely to catch his attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man snarled abruptly as he turned to face Jaskier, hiding the giggling girl on his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Whoa,” Jaskier said, instinctively raising his hands. “There's no need to be so… predatory. I just wanted to say that your girl absolutely nailed it. And so did you." Jaskier gave the man his most winning smile, but to his dismay the man didn't seem impressed and embraced his daughter even tighter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But at least there was no more snarling. Baby steps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Say thank you," the girl prompted her dad and followed up by setting a good example: "Thank you, Mr. Pianoman. I'm Ciri!" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She extended her hand over her father's shoulder. Jaskier carelessly shook it - only to be almost tossed away by the man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Cirilla, don't give your name to strangers!" he scolded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But now you've given him my full name!" Ciri pouted. The man looked terrified.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm so sorry!" He implored. "I'm so, so, so sorry. I'm Geralt. Please, don't tell anyone my daughter's full name." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier thought he couldn't have been more smitten; Geralt was smiting him, alright, and apparently oblivious to it. Jaskier did the only thing he could: he swooned, loudly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt blushed and scurried away. Ciri kept giggling on his shoulder, and gave Jaskier a friendly wave as they scurried out of sight. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier nodded to no one in particular and hurried to Triss. He showered her with compliments and flattery, spoke so much that they both lost the thread of it, but in the end Triss just smiled and said she wouldn't give him Geralt's phone number. Jaskier experienced the meaning of the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>crestfallen</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a way he never had before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked back to his apartment, distracted, absent-minded and too excited. No wonder he walked right in front of a car. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Hospital</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier wakes up in hospital, to a few nice and nasty surprises...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier’s awakening was so rude it was downright insolent. Annoying beeping sounds, a pounding headache, the nauseating stab of hospital lights and... Geralt's face, looking down at him. Well, okay, that bit was wonderful. Almost made up for the rest of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s gaze traveled down from that comely face to a neck with a stethoscope hanging around it and a set of very black scrubs. Nurse Geralt? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Doctor</span>
  </em>
  <span> Geralt? Fuck, this was looking more like the plot of a bad porno with every passing moment. Jaskier blushed seven shades of scarlet as his mind fast-forwarded through the rest of that train of thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hmm…" Geralt's face said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well… Hmm… Hello. This is awkward,” Jaskier opined.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Geralt agreed, making a note on the chart by the bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not that I’m complaining,” Jaskier said, “but to what do I owe the privilege of waking up to your lovely face? I mean, we’re not in my flat, so I’m gonna need a bit of context here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were hit by a car,” Geralt supplied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ah, yes. That. The memory came crashing into him in much the same way as the car had, albeit with less damage to his poor body. He wasn’t sure the same could be said for his heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ouch,” he summarised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm.” Geralt slipped his stethoscope off his neck and settled it in his ears. He motioned for Jaskier to sit up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without so much as a by-your-leave, he slipped his hand under Jaskier’s shirt and pressed the frigid chestpiece against his back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ffffffuck,” Jaskier hissed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt yanked his hand away. “Does it hurt?” He asked, suddenly all concern. It was almost unnerving how quickly Geralt could switch from clinical detachment to something entirely warm and soft.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, just cold,” Jaskier chuckled. Well, that, and a man of godlike proportions, with the warmest amber eyes Jaskier had ever seen, was sticking his hand under Jaskier’s clothes, and Jaskier’s brain was in no way equipped to deal with the soft brush of those fingertips on Jaskier’s ribs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Geralt returned to his examination. “Deep breaths.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier sat patiently through the prods and pokes, blood pressure readings, lights being shone in his eyes, endless variations on the theme of “does this hurt?” and “how does that feel?” And all the while, those hands, roaming and touching him oh so very gently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That is not to say that Geralt was being in any way inappropriate. No, he was the very picture of professionalism, but Jaskier’s lizard brain was about as professional as a teenage boy discovering his father’s naughty magazines for the first time. He had lost any hope of keeping cool the first time those molten-gold eyes had met his. Now he was just gradually being destroyed, every spare bit of self-control occupied with not grabbing the handsome doctor and kissing him silly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Think of un-sexy things!</span>
  </em>
  <span> He admonished himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Garbage piles! Dog poop! Root canal work! Yes, dentists with angry scowls and soft honeyed eyes that crinkle at the corners and strong sure hands and black scrubs stretching oh-so-tightly across a chest like a sack of pythons…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck, this wasn’t working.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yennefer naked.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Okay, yeah, that did the trick. The newly-appointed head of the Fine Arts department terrified him on a visceral level, as if she could (and moreover, would) castrate him with the sheer power of her glare. He’d probably turn to stone if he saw her naked. Or bleed out through his eye sockets, or something.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice pulled him from his nightmare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sorry, what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay? You went very pale for a moment there.” Concerned Geralt was back, and fuck if Jaskier didn’t bask in it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Probably still a bit shook up, that’s all,” he demurred.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, then.” Back to businesslike Geralt. “We’ll keep you overnight, just to make sure everything’s okay, then you can go home tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Geralt.” Jaskier tried for his softest, most adoring gaze, but who knew how that landed. Geralt seemed entirely unaffected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The good doctor scribbled something in Jaskier's file and left. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier was taken to x-ray and back again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Priscilla called. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Triss called.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then Yennefer called. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Look, I'm sorry about this, but I understand you're alive, so I'm going to use and abuse it," Yennefer interrupted his confused spluttering. “Yes, I got your number from your student records, feel free to complain to the dean if you dare, but I need a favour.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How dare she?! Jaskier suddenly envied Geralt's ability to just hmm and snarl his way through life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His head did hurt, now that he thought about it, he wanted some serious painkillers. Or maybe he’d already had some? Maybe this was all some drug-induced </span>
  <span>dream</span>
  <span> nightmare?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How can I help?" he asked, deciding not to fight it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So, the thing is…" Yennefer sounded a bit embarrassed, “I can't get a hold of my dear ex, because he’s over there taking your blood pressure one too many times so that he can gaze into your pretty blue eyes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier wanted to call the nurse to check his vitals. He was dying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How the fuck?” he asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m dating Triss. Also, Ciri won’t stop talking about you.” Yennefer… giggled. It was a very Ciri giggle, Jaskier had to admit. And apparently he lived in a telenovela, since everyone around him turned out to be related or shagging. He was the only clueless character there, dropping by on his way to a fancy art house film about creative crisis.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Point is,” Yennefer went on, “I can't remember whether Ciri's riding lesson is tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, and it's crucial because if it's not tomorrow then I'm going to take her to MacDonald's and watch Geralt’s face when Ciri tells him about it." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I… I don't think he'll get back to me," Jaskier replied. “We didn’t exactly hit it off, I don’t think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Pity… Now I don't know a thing. Triss doesn't know.  Why am I dating her again…” Yennefer lost her thread for a moment before coming back full force. “Oh shit, you're not well. Get well, Jaskier." And she was gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier wanted an MRI - he was sure he had a brain tumour, it was the only logical explanation. And what Jaskier wanted, Jaskier had to get, so he </span>
  <em>
    <span>demanded </span>
  </em>
  <span>an MRI, in a manner not unlike a toddler demanding that he wants </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> banana. The nurse looked at him, perplexed and worried, and went to page the doctor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That was how Dr. Geralt graced Jaskier's bed with his presence once again. Well, not the bed itself, but the tantalisingly close vicinity of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why would you want an MRI? Are you feeling worse?" Geralt asked. He smelled of sharp perfume, copious amounts of soap, rubbing alcohol...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I have a brain tumour,” Jaskier said. “Either that, or I’m the main character in a truly ridiculous movie script.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, apparently the scariest woman in the world is or was sleeping with everyone I know, and for some reason she decided that I’m the one to call with Ciri-related issues, because you don’t answer your phone. Also, she said I have pretty eyes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The fuck?” Geralt said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Jaskier answered. ”Anyway, she wants to know whether Ciri needs a ride to MacDonald’s. Or something. I’m not quite sure what the question was, come to think of it; opioids and terror make one hell of a cocktail. You should probably phone her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched up in something that was tangentially an ur-smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.” Geralt pulled his phone out as he left the room. Jaskier already mourned his absence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yenn, what the fuck?” was the last thing he heard as the good doctor rounded a corner and disappeared.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Arcade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They go on a daaaaaateeee!!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier didn’t see the good doctor again; some other person brought over his discharge papers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t moping, he told himself. The romcom marathon on Netflix while eating ice-cream straight from the tub was self-care, that was all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hardly even knew the man, for fuck’s sake. He wasn’t some stupid teenager. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nevertheless, amber eyes haunted his dreams at night (and what dreams they were! Jaskier had to do laundry afterwards).</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually he worked up the courage (or desperation, depending on the angle you liked to take) to burst into Yennefer’s office one afternoon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” he said, without any preamble or politeness, “give me his number? And for the love of all that is holy, please tell me he’s into guys.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yennefer regarded him coolly for a few moments before pulling out her phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll do one better,” she said, and put the phone to her ear.  “Hi honey. Just hold on a minute, would you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She handed the phone to a decidedly flabbergasted Jaskier. “There you go. Don’t fuck it up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You call your ex </span>
  <em>
    <span>honey</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" Jaskier mouthed as he took the phone - not out of discretion, mind you; more due to the fact that his throat suddenly felt like the Sahara desert. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Of course I do!" Yennefer answered loudly, clearly intending for Geralt to hear. "He's sticky and annoying." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What the fuck?!" Geralt boomed from the phone. Jaskier almost dropped the gadget, but managed to hang on and bring it close to his ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Geralt? Hello, this is Jaskier…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh no," Geralt groaned. "No, please… fuck! This is cruel!" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Geralt, are you alright?" Jaskier asked. The very thought of Geralt being not alright was worrying and frankly depressing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why… why would she do this?" Geralt was groaning. "Why would you do this, Yenn?" he shouted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier held the phone so that Yennefer could hear Geralt too. She smirked - and then smirked harder, convincing Jaskier that something was definitely wrong. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Geralt was still ranting at Yennefer. "The first guy I like in years, and he's cute as fuck, blue eyes, smiles like anything, and as if it’s not bad enough that he's my patient </span>
  <em>
    <span>you had to go and fuck him and have him call me from your number</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yennefer rolled her eyes. "You deal with it," she instructed Jaskier, leaning back in her chair, a queen being entertained by her courtiers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Geralt," Jaskier called carefully. "Geralt you're misunderstanding, and most ridiculously, I must say."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier's gentle tone had apparently come off as a surprise because Geralt stopped his dramatic ranting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're… how?.. Can someone please explain to me what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> is going on?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I… Yennefer is the head of my department. Well, not my department precisely, she’s art and I’m music, but sort of sibling-departments. Diagonally up, if you will. Which at least means she’s not my boss, thank the gods. She’s terrifying, she is, I have no idea how you-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted tersely. “The point?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, sorry.  I thought she might be a reliable source of your contact information. Phoning you was her idea."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt’s eye-roll on the other end was almost audible. “Typical. Well, I’m not giving her the satisfaction. I’ll text you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have my number,” Jaskier tried to say, but the line was already dead.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier turned to Yennefer, who appeared to be stifling a laugh. “Well. That was-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was interrupted by the phone in his hand ringing. It was Geralt. Again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier answered the call and started talking without preamble. “As I was saying, you don’t have my number. And I still don’t have yours either. I’m not sure I want to risk asking Yennefer again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well. I’m waiting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier had to think a while before rattling off his number. Who even memorised phone numbers anymore?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay then.” And Geralt was gone again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not a minute later he felt his own phone vibrate, and pulled it out to see a text from an unknown number. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s me. Geralt.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perfect,” Jaskier smiled to himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks Yenn, I owe you,” he said as he skipped out of her office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You boys be good,” was all she said in reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never,” Jaskier winked at her before slipping out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And now they had… A date? Is that what this was supposed to be? Fuck, Jaskier certainly hoped so. Dates mean kisses, right? Or at least, successful dates do. The promise of kisses, at least? He would give anything for a kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This better be a date. And he’d better make sure it was a success. Because kisses. And if the kisses were equally successful… nope, not going there now. All in good time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He would most certainly not admit how many times he’d changed his clothes, but suffice it to say that half his wardrobe was now littering his bedroom floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just tenpin bowling, you idiot, not a bloody fashion show,” he muttered to himself more times than he cared to count. He’d been a bit surprised at Geralt’s choice of activity; not a typical date night thing, in his experience, to get all sweaty while making a fool of yourself. Although, come to think of it, clubbing might have much the same effect.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anyway. Jaskier was Jaskier, and that meant he wouldn’t dream of looking anything other than fabulous. He eventually settled on a pair of tight jeans that he knew hugged his arse </span>
  <em>
    <span>just so</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and a deep turquoise shirt that made his eyes pop (helped along even more by a strategic smudge of eyeliner). And extra antiperspirant, because he wasn’t about to go sweating like a racehorse on a first date.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The buzzer rang to announce his visitor, so he grabbed his things, winked at himself in the mirror, and rushed out the door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Okay, tenpin bowling was something he could scratch off his list of hidden talents. He would probably have been bad at it regardless, but the way Geralt’s jeans stretched over his butt and thighs when he crouched (bowling yet another strike)... well, suffice it to say Jaskier’s thoughts were not on the game, and his blood was not in his brain. Maybe these tight pants hadn’t been such a good idea after all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After Geralt wiped the floor with him, he suggested they explore the rest of the arcade, in a bid to redeem himself. He’d been pretty good at those things as a teenager (no, don’t ask how long ago that was, shhh).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, Geralt then proceeded to add insult to injury, thoroughly thrashing him in Sharp Shooter (he wondered whether he should be concerned that Geralt was so adept at handling a gun), MotoGP, even Mortal fucking Kombat. But then he spotted one game he was sure to win at.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, we are </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> playing that!” he exclaimed, grabbing Geralt by the arm and dragging him off to the Dance Dance Revolution machine he’d spotted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No fucking way,” Geralt said when he saw where they were headed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, come on,” Jaskier argued, giving Geralt his best pout. “You’ve kicked my ass at literally everything else we’ve tried, let’s at least play one game where I have a fighting chance.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” Geralt relented, rolling his eyes. “But if I break a leg, you’re carrying me home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was eyeing the flashing lights and arrows of the dance game with the sceptical wariness of a scientist faced with a flat-earther. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier swayed his hips and stepped on the platform. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll go easy on you,” he said with a smirk, pressing buttons to select a song. “We’ll start with one of the slower ones.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The music was tacky, but honestly, so were dates in arcades. Jaskier gave it all he had, losing himself to the rhythm of hitting the arrows exactly as they lit up. He didn't even think of Geralt, except in that he was focused and determined to beat him at this one thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He only remembered about his date when the song came to an end and he turned around to crow about his perfect score. Turns out Geralt had entirely forgotten about the dancing; he was just… standing there, panting slightly, his peculiar eyes feverish with… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier didn't even get a chance to ponder it, since Geralt grabbed him by an arm, dragging him away from the game.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Geralt, what are you doing?” he managed, still a little out of breath from the dancing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm going to snog you silly,” Geralt growled. “No, I'm the one who's silly. You're gorgeous. Can I? Please?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No compl…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier was stopped mid-word, because Geralt's lips were on his and making a very good argument about less conversation, more action. It was for the best, since Jaskier's only conversation at that point would have been a marriage proposal. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Gods and demons,</span>
  </em>
  <span> kissing Geralt was so much better than he’d imagined (and he’d imagined it plenty of times, oh yes). He moaned as Geralt pulled him closer, pressing their bodies together as their tongues met and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaskier would have fallen over if Geralt hadn’t had such a strong grip on him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This date had gone way, </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>better than expected, he thought blearily as the red haze of arousal threatened to overwhelm his sensibilities.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They were interrupted by a pointed cough. Jaskier opened his eyes - he actually had to pull back a bit to even be able to turn his head - and saw a security guard, arms crossed and foot tapping.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, I don’t mind what you gentlemen get up to in the privacy of your own homes,” she said, fixing them with a stern glare that had a sparkle of amusement in it, “but this is a family venue, and this show you’re putting on is definitely a bit PG for this audience.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh fuck, yes. They were in an arcade. Full of kids. Jaskier felt his cheeks flush.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he mumbled. “We’ll just, er…” he looked at Geralt pleadingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re going home,” Geralt said decisively.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When they got out into the parking lot, Jaskier collapsed in a fit of giggles, hanging on to Geralt’s arm for support.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh man,” he gasped, “It’s been a while since I got thrown out of a place for inappropriate snogging. Now I really feel like a teenager all over again. All we need now is awkward fumbling sex in the backseat of a car.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even Geralt gave a little chuckle at that. “I think we can do a bit better than that. Being all grown up must have some perks.” He leaned in to speak directly in Jaskier’s ear, his voice becoming the aural equivalent of molten dark chocolate. “I meant it, when I said I want to take you home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Does anyone else remember those arcade games? Or am I revealing my age here? 😋</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is just fluff. Because we could all use a bit of sweetness in these trying times.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Geralt proved to be a thorough lover. He kissed as if there were nothing else in the world to do, and Jaskier was quite convinced he was right in that assumption. He caressed Jaskier as if he intended to undo and re-create him anew. He thrust gently, but so wonderfully, so beautifully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier had had his share of lovers, and he had always considered himself a generous one, but he was nothing compared to Geralt; Geralt, who made love with such care and concern for Jaskier's pleasure. Oh dear, Jaskier hardly had a chance to spare a thought for his lover's pleasure, because Geralt was there, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and everywhere; there was no place his hands didn't touch, no crook or crease his lips didn't kiss… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And in the afterglow, when Geralt cradled Jaskier’s trembling body to his chest and whispered “Stay,” into his hair, there was no question whatsoever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How long can I stay?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaskier wondered as he slipped into sleep.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Just for the night? Perhaps a couple of days, a week, a month, a year? Perhaps forever? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He would marry Geralt immediately. Jaskier would do anything for that handsome man who made him feel every inch of his body, feel his skin set alight. He wanted to kiss him good morning and goodnight, spend his days making Geralt breakfast and ironing his shirts. He wanted to write him a thousand songs and sing his praises to the ends of the earth. He wanted to live his life in the shadow of this man-mountain, bask in the sunlight of his glowing eyes and dance in his thunderstorms. He wanted, he wanted... he wanted everything, in short. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier had experienced his share of one-night stands, fuelled by alcohol and lust and an urgent need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel, feel, feel</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He knew only too well how quickly the passion could sizzle into nothing in the cold, harsh light of the morning after. He’d perfected the art of knowing when his welcome was over and making a graceful exit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But with Geralt, it was different. He woke to gentle fingers brushing through his hair, Geralt smiling at him across the pillows with a fondness that seemed altogether too vulnerable for such a demigod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning,” Jaskier offered, momentarily lost in the vision before him. Geralt’s back was to the window, and the sunlight hitting his hair behind made it sparkle like the mane of some magical ice-lion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning, gorgeous,” Geralt replied, his voice gone low and gravelly with sleep, sending a shiver down Jaskier’s spine. Why was everything about him so utterly irresistible?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sleep well?” Geralt asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like a baby,” Jaskier replied, causing Geralt to snort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clearly, you’ve never had a baby,” he said. “They have many endearing traits, but a tendency to sleep well is not one of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, then,” Jaskier countered. “Not like a baby. Like a… like a teenager.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, you were doing other things like a teenager too, if I recall correctly,” Geralt teased, his hand now skimming along Jaskier’s hip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like you’d know, old man,” Jaskier teased back. Not that he really knew how old Geralt was, but he was pretty sure it was at least ten years older than himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, is that so?” Geralt’s voice went low and seductive. “Maybe you should remind me then.” The hand on Jaskier’s hip slipped around to his arse and he was pulled in close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And well, that was an offer he simply couldn’t refuse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And even then it didn’t end. Geralt invited him to join him in the shower, and for breakfast, and to pick up Ciri; and even Yennefer’s smug smirk couldn’t ruin his mood. And in the days (and indeed, weeks and months) that followed, the invitations didn’t stop. Dinners, midday coffee dates, nights on the couch watching Netflix (ahem…), but also school runs and taking Ciri to ballet practice and Geralt coming to watch his gigs and smile quietly from his seat at the bar. Their lives slid together like two puzzle pieces - not exactly effortlessly, but comfortably, as if they were meant to fit. Of course, it helped that Ciri adored Jaskier from day one; he had a feeling that his daughter’s disapproval would be a dealbreaker for Geralt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yes, sometimes Geralt would be grumpy with lack of sleep after a particularly rough night on call and snap at Jaskier; and sometimes Jaskier would get needlessly dramatic about his struggles to compose or a harsh criticism and act like a spoiled toddler. But they always found their way back to each other when the storm blew over; always found a way to say “I’m sorry,” and “Forgive me,” and “I’ll do better.” And every apology was accepted; sometimes reluctantly, but always, eventually, wholeheartedly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because in the end, nothing was worth more to them than each other.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And so it ends. Hope you enjoyed, dear hearts. Leave a comment and say hi!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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